


Consider the Lilies

by GrayRainbows



Category: Flowers in the Attic - V. C. Andrews
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayRainbows/pseuds/GrayRainbows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of life and the brewing unrest at Foxworth Hall, 1920-1923 [GoS]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Consider the Lilies

Prologue

When, very rarely, Malcolm dreams, it is his own house in which his nocturnal visions place him. He strives for, and generally achieves dreamless slumber. His is a life without dreams, for they are solace for under-achievers, those whose lives are troubled and incomplete. Malcolm believes he has attained almost absolute mastery of his life. Yet he has begun to believe that any man has, within himself, the potential for a misery quite independent of the facts of his existence. His dreams do not permit him to escape the source of this misery, neither do they clarify his thoughts.

At times he feels an inexplicable grief, a hard knot in his chest, a knot that won't unfurl. It is not for the loss of his recently deceased father, this grief, but for the turmoil that lies ahead, the turmoil he himself set in motion. The weight of responsibility for two women and three children has fallen on his shoulders. Perhaps his judgment is faulty, at present; perhaps his father's death has unmanned him in ways he can't altogether grasp.

"You as much as killed your father." chided the voice in his mind. It was very much like Olivia's voice, but she had never said those words to him, though she'd expostulated with him at length on his recent conduct, all in terms of blame.

"You're a hateful person, Malcolm. You'll never be a happy man after this. I pity you." said the woman who was his mate, and supposed to be his ally, offering support.

Fearing her judgments would be proven true, and to stop her vicious outpouring of words, he ordered her away, cursing her, once she vacated the trophy room, leaving him feeling as powerless as the dead animals on the walls.

If, for once, she had turned and intuited what he needed, if she'd come to him and encircled him with her arms, he might have been freed from a few of his demons. The knots of loneliness and fear might have begun to unravel, allowing him to shelter in the solid goodness and certainty that he knew to be his wife's abiding and true qualities.

She never turned back as she left the room, closing him in with his rage, disowning any care she had for him, forgetting him, he thought, as he would soon after forget that she wasn't to blame for his discontent.

He had never felt that his marriage was so near to being broken, or that he had endangered it, until that moment of extreme carelessness, when he realized that there are things one doesn't say, no matter the circumstance. But he had said them, and she had said them, each swept along by a common ferocious wave of anger.

As she stormed away, he worried that Olivia might persuade Alicia to seek the help of clergy or police. She and Alicia seemed inseparable; Alicia leaned on her so, in the weeks following the funeral. But no, Olivia would keep his secrets, of that he was certain, for she was loyal, in her way.

He knew he should summon her back to his side, that had he been another man, he would not allow a rift to grow. But allowing oneself to be forgiven requires courage. Asking for forgiveness, showing need and weakness, then facing her denial or rejection, would be as difficult as picking up one of his guns and turning it upon himself.

Malcolm decanted a brandy, and felt it burn a path to his troubled core. It was his father's favorite drink, and Malcolm relished its fiery bitterness, hoping to quench his unease. He switched on his desk lamp and stalked to a window, shoving aside the velvet curtain to peer mutinously out into the pitch darkness. He did not truly know what he believed, and he wondered if his father now knew all. In spirit, did Garland see the hearts and minds of those still in the flesh? Was he now apprised of all the dark feelings harbored by his son?

Olivia had predicted that Malcolm would never be happy, but had he ever known that entrancing state, for more than brief, passing moments? He was suffering. Yet he couldn't admit it. So artificial was the current relation between them that, rather than break down in her presence, rather than let her see his struggle, he insisted upon solitude.

He was her husband; she possessed the habit of him, the prerogative of his name, the occupancy of his house. They were bound by association, convenience, appearances, shared possessions. At night he would come home to her, and he would sleep in his room down the hall, and sometimes, at his convenience, he would visit hers. She would continue to administer his household, rear his children. Yet such things gave her no command over his mind or his heart.

For what seemed long months, she could not bring herself to speak to him unless she had to play a part, due to the presence of a servant, or on account of the boys, who must be shielded.

Malcolm, emulating his grandfather Lemuel Foxworth's character, rather than Garland's, had made even less parental effort than usual with Mal and Joel, and not effort enough to satisfy Olivia. It was she who had to break the news of their grandfather's sudden death to the boys, and cope with their confusion and grief.

Now, in the aftermath of this, in the silence, he swept aside all the justifications he created for himself; they all could be distilled down to one-Alicia. Obsession with her had seemed to derail much that was good, or should have been good in his life. As it happened, he had not recognized the slow progression into aggression into which his own musings had led him, violence tinged with a desperate wish to excise his fixation. He tries to think back, to pinpoint just when it started-when he had started to lose control of everything...


	2. Chapter I

Chapter I

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." Matthew 6:28-29

On a Sunday afternoon, after her return from a late church service, Alicia was on the sunny terrace, arranging flowers. She hummed the last hymn which had concluded one of Reverend Masterson's best sermons. Mal had followed her outside, but seeing Lucas exit the garage, abandoned his step-grandmother in favor of a far more fascinating pursuit.

Lucas, clad in overalls, was busy with the upkeep of the family's automobiles. He worked at cleaning spark plugs, as Mal hovered nearby, waiting to offer his childish help, if once encouraged.

Malcolm, passing through the nearby courtyard, was arrested by his young son's rapt interest, and paused to oversee the activity of the automobile maintenance. Mal, who had been taught not to bother Lucas, turned to Malcolm.

"Father, why is the fan in the front of the motor?" Mal queried.

"So as to pump air from holes in the radiator, and over the engine. See here? Come and look."

Lucas unobtrusively removed himself to the garage, leaving Malcolm to finish extracting a plug, then: "Father, there's a butterfly squashed in the radiator. Why did he fly in there?"

"He didn't. The car hit him before he could get out of the way." Then, added Malcolm sententiously, "I am glad to answer questions when they're intelligent. But I don't like a foolish boy, or foolish questions."

Mal went on examining the ill-fated butterfly. Presently, however, he wandered back to Malcolm's side, and turned his attention to the motor once more, staring at it intently, a frown furrowing his golden eyebrows. He searched desperately through his chaotic mind to retrieve some piece of knowledge imparted by his father. Finally he chirped in his uncertain, sweet treble, "That's the ca-carb-"

"Carburetor. There, near the cylinder."

"It's not like the one on the Lincoln."

"Right you are, son."

Tightening the second plug, he wiped his hands on a rag.

"You see, the gas is put in here," he directed Mal to the tank. "then it's sent through a vacuum pipe to the carburetor, which mixes it with air and sprays it into the cylinder." He abandoned the spark plugs. Here was a mind as eager as his own for the enthralling tale of the gasoline engine. He sprang into the driving seat, and turning the switch, trod on the starter. "Now, when there's a spark," he explained, stepping down and rejoining Mal, "it fires the mixture of gas and air, so that the explosion sends up the piston."

The motor warmed, vibrated, and died to a purr. At his heels Mal, his small face flushed with eagerness, ran around the hood to peer in, while the lesson continued, although at such a tender age, the child couldn't possibly understand much of his father's explanation.

It was at this moment that Malcolm again noticed Alicia, who had paused in her work to smile affectionately at the little boy. One hand gently rested on the swell of her abdomen, revealing the true focus of her musings.

"You'll have one of your own soon." Malcolm said softly.

She dropped her arm to her side, as a blush of embarrassment suffused her cheeks.

Of course his statement-intentional, and not a gaffe-was an impropriety, just as his questions to her over the dinner table had been, on the first night that she and Garland arrived at Foxworth Hall. No male, aside from a woman's husband, should show awareness of her delicate condition, much less deign to comment upon it, particularly to the woman herself. Doing so displayed a breach of good manners. Malcolm had called attention to the state of Alicia's health, and in spite of the disapproval his impertinence garnered him, no one, as yet, had challenged his rudeness.

Partly, he acknowledged, he had spoken out, wanting to startle Alicia and gauge the mettle of the girl his father had married, and partly because it gave him the perverse pleasure of discomfiting her. Those same motives were at work now.

Olivia's voice, calling for Mal, reached him then, shifting him from his relaxed mood, and a moment later, her purposeful figure appeared from around the side of the house.

"Mal, run along, and ask Mrs. Wilson to give you a cookie and a glass of milk. But only one cookie, mind, because you will be having luncheon with us today." She glanced pointedly at Malcolm. "Garland has requested it." she finished, a glint of triumph in her eyes.

"He is an extraordinary father." observed Alicia, turning to Olivia. "Just as Garland will be, I know."

Olivia, treating this statement as rhetorical and unworthy of a reply, took up the mindless project of filling a white urn with peonies, in shades of red and pink. Completing the task, her face still blanched with some unexpressed emotion, she turned her back on both of them, and entered the house.

Malcolm surmised, from conversations recently overheard, that Olivia wasn't content with the new changes at Foxworth Hall. Another proof of this was in progress, moments later, when he entered the house and passed the kitchen, from which emanated the voices of his wife and Mrs. Steiner and Mrs. Wilson.

"There is chicken, Ma'am," suggested one, "left over from yesterday, and if you wish, I can put together a salad, and a compote of stewed fruit for dessert."

"That will do nicely." her footsteps approached the door, but she paused. "And please, Luise, can't you manage to look more tidy? Your dress is not fresh."

"It was, this morning." came the older woman's glib reply. "Lucas didn't tend to the furnace, and I had to go down and put on some coal. No one has ever found fault with my appearance before."

"That is neither here nor there," said Olivia, sharply. "All I care about is the present. I shouldn't have spoken of it, if this had been the first time this has come to my attention. Please be more careful."

"Mit diesen Leuten soll man etwas fertig kriegen?" muttered Mrs. Steiner, as she exited the kitchen, untying her apron. Alarmed to see someone in the hallway, she rushed past with an anxious apology.

Many small incidents seemed to set Olivia on edge; he was newly aware of some of these, caused by the two people with whom they now had to share a home.

On one of her first mornings as a resident of Foxworth Hall, Alicia ventured, uninvited, into the nursery, proffering a cup of tea. It hadn't taken her long to move about the house as if she belonged in it.

"My goodness," he heard Olivia say to the girl. "It's so early. I thought surely you'd sleep in, today."

"This is for you." said Alicia, placing china cup and saucer on the corner of a shelf.

"How kind. Thank you. But it really wasn't necessary." she said, her voice redolent of surprise and gratitude, although Malcolm knew that as a regular practice, she wished to tend to the boys in the mornings, alone, for Mal was always querulous, upon waking.

"Is there something I can do to help you?"

"No, I don't think so. You should rest now, you know, as much as you can. You've no idea how tired you will be, once your baby comes."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be delightful." Alicia trilled.

"Well, yes, certainly. Still, you must be sensible." Olivia said, her natural guarded mien restored.

"Garland promises to hire a nurse."

"How thoughtful." replied Olivia, unimpressed by the gesture, Malcolm guessed.

"The past three years have been such an adventure, such a whirlwind! I've loved every minute, and I'd never say so to Garland, but I am tired of traveling. It will be delightful to settle in, and have a real home of our own." Alicia confided.

"Yes, of course it will be."

"I love it here, already. You have such a beautiful home. It is more impressive than I imagined." Alicia continued.

"Have you purchased or sewn what you'll need for the baby? You've left it rather late, but you mustn't delay furnishing a nursery. Later, I'll show you the room which would be best...I'll show you several, and you can choose one." Olivia amended.

"Oh, it will be such fun to choose things-"

The family's routines were being disturbed already by this girl; Malcolm had cautioned Olivia not to permit many changes-not to allow any insubordination, not to allow Alicia to take the upper hand in giving orders to the servants, or in any way usurp Olivia's established role in Foxworth Hall.

His preoccupation with this matter was, he dimly realized, an extension of his fears about his own place in the Foxworth enterprises, a place he had a right to maintain. Though now that Garland had returned, he might not agree. This new family of Garland's had been a blessed distraction, for it had kept the older man away for the past three years. But now Malcolm saw that Alicia and her soon-to-be-born child were also a threat, and the subject continued to trouble him throughout the week that followed, as Garland accompanied him to the office.

***  
*Note: The German phrase spoken by Mrs. Steiner translates to: "With people like that, how can you get anything done?"


	3. Chapter II

Chapter II

"He's lost his fire, if he ever had it in the first place." Malcolm was overheard to say.

From the time of Malcolm's twenty-first year and graduation from Yale, Garland had all but abdicated control, and had cut his involvement down to twice-yearly visits to Charlottesville. His priority had long since shifted away from the Foxworth business interests, though he still offered opinions and doubts about Malcolm's practices, though, according to his son, the older man failed to grasp the reasons for the new methods of doing business, in the post-war recession. When the clock struck five, however, these daily wrangles were forgotten, and Garland was eager to close his office and hurry home, dropping whatever might still need his attention, all in the cause of not keeping the ladies, his grandsons, or dinner waiting. To Garland, work was a pastime, necessary only for the purposes of keeping his hand in, and maintaining a presence in the community. He felt, at his stage of life, that he had nothing more to prove to himself, or to anyone else.

"My accomplishments here aren't the things that matter, to Alicia."

"Well, MY wife wouldn't respect me if I spent my days idling about the house." Malcolm tersely replied.

"Don't be too sure of that. You can never devote too much time and attention to your wife; her happiness ensures yours. A few more champagne cocktails and moonlight strolls never hurt anybody. And if I haven't said so, son, she is a fine looking woman." Garland observed, paying Malcolm the compliment of his choice.

"And better still, she has intelligence and wealth, which is worth all the beauty in the world."

"That won't mean much to you when you are an old man." Garland informed him, then chuckled. "Or indeed, isn't of great consequence even while you are young."

Their difference of opinion was not about to change, and as they reached home and Lucas turned the car into the driveway, the conversation was tacitly dropped.

"Looks as though we're expected." smiled Garland, seeing his wife and daughter-in-law on the front portico, enjoying the mild April sunshine. "Hello, Olivia. Have my grandsons been keeping you busy? How are the youngsters, today?"

Garland waited for a reply but a second, then, the necessary salutation dispensed with, he was free to devote his attention to Alicia.

"Garland, my darling!" she chirped, and flew into her husband's arms.

"I-I'm glad you're home." Olivia said as Malcolm kissed her. The halting admission pleased him, though her greeting did not approach the same degree of warmth with which Garland's homecoming was welcomed by Alicia. It seemed his father and that girl would forever be spoiling his moments; no doubt Olivia felt this, too. Such exaggerated romancing was uncomfortable to witness, and he had noticed her blush, seeing them together.

Garland's second marriage, to Malcolm's mind, seemed nothing more than the futile attempt of an aging man to slow the passage of years, by exploiting a young girl's fondness for him. In due course, Alicia would inevitably move on and remarry, as she must do when she tired of Garland, or when Garland passed on.

In the meantime, peace would be restored if the two would only make their home elsewhere! Alicia's absence would remove some of the spontaneity from Foxworth Hall, but Malcolm recognized that Olivia had been happier before Alicia breezed into their midst, and he, too, had been more settled.  
Undoubtedly, Olivia's warmth upon his homecoming today was only an expression of relief at having companionship other than that of Alicia.

Surreptitiously, Malcolm observed his stepmother. Alicia appeared as sweetly innocent as a thirteen-year-old girl, as she paced the width of the portico in a yellow beruffled summer frock, barefoot, now with Joel in her arms. She bent her head to babble to the laughing child, helping him to wave hello. She settled the baby on her hip, and he tugged at the neck of her blouse, exposing a patch of tanned skin over her collarbone. Malcolm averted his eyes.

Olivia, relieved of the care of the baby for a few minutes, made the most of the stolen moments with a book, and hadn't noticed the focus of Malcolm's attention. Her hair, held back by ivory combs, was burnished to fiery red by the spring sun. Her blue shirtwaist dress fastened by buttons shaped like tiny silver roses. Weeks ago he'd seen her sewing these on and, knowing that she often ornamented her day dresses with a colorful scarf or an embroidered collar, he reminded himself that she probably made this effort for him, and dragged his thoughts away from the fetching sight of his stepmother. It seemed he was, too often, catching himself at this effort.

Malcolm, unaccustomed as he was to pondering the motivations of others or himself, was disconcerted. He was stricken by a rush of feeling, inspired by which woman he could not tell. Their differences intrigued him, and this interest mingled with a swift annoyance that the shape of his life had been changed by the advent of his father's teen-aged bride in their midst. That she should be here, in his home, holding his child and forcing him to consider her-the very fact that he would contrast Alicia's charms with those of his wife unsettled him. Yet, what harm could there be in allowing curiosity to spice his thoughts?

Later, he would go to Olivia, as he ought, and dispel his demons, and dispel, too, her calm, that spinsterly calm she had wished to surrender, in marriage-although as time passed, many factors conspired to render physical love for his wife less natural.

As the weeks passed, it came to seem almost as if there was some conspiracy at work that never allowed him to forget the presence of Alicia. Garland constantly spoke of her. Acquaintances inquired about her, for she had not as yet begun to make social calls. His children adored her. Not even in the privacy of slumber or in the embrace of his own wife could he escape the hold Alicia had on his imagination.

He tried, many a night, not to be aware of Alicia's flute-clear voice, or of Garland's snoring on the other side of the wall. He wanted not to feel so furtive, so cautious, as Olivia clasped him tighter, but the need for more and closer contact was growing, blessedly driving all else from his thoughts.

"I shouldn't have to whisper in my own bed." he said, once he regained his senses.

"Be glad it's only snoring that you hear." she said with a wry laugh, something she'd never done before in such a moment.

Startled, he leaned back, so as to see her more clearly. She nodded. "Oh yes. I often hear them...talking."

"You would be better off if you'd leave off studying them so closely."

"How can I help it?" she asked, peeved.

But she was right. No one could forget that after three years of matrimony, his father and Alicia were still honeymooning.

"She's a peach." Garland often commented, as if congratulating himself, grating upon Malcolm's nerves. "Well, what do you think of your new mother?"

"I doubt Alicia sees herself as inhabiting that role, Father. She's been shadowing Olivia constantly, I gather, trying to learn a useful thing or two about child-rearing." he said, trying to make a point both about Alicia's ineptitude, and her persistence in causing annoyance.

"I'm pleased they're becoming fast friends. Alicia likes to be helpful, and already, she loves those boys."

"Olivia isn't used to taking help." Malcolm commented ruefully, with acceptance of the trait he appreciated, and would not have changed.

"In another week or two, you'll have a brother or sister. What do you think of that?" When Malcolm ignored this, Garland continued, "I thought I'd get Alicia a mink, after the baby's born."

"Don't you think that's a bit much?"

"Nonsense." countered Garland. "She'll look smashing in it."

"She's rather young to wear fur." Malcolm said, and truly believed this.

"Not at all, not at all. A mink looks fine on any woman."

"You're over-indulging Alicia, just as you over-indulged Corinne." he postulated.

Garland's face darkened, as inevitably it did when his first wife's memory was evoked.

"It would make Alicia happy, and that would make me happy."

"No one thinks you're happy," Malcolm replied in a tight voice that matched his father's. "they think you're foolish. For a marriage of such short duration, it's a ridiculous extravagance." he said with no small measure of scorn.

"Son, I believe you are more of a Yankee than Olivia is."

"Surely, anyone's manner would seem restrained, compared to yours, Father."

"You can harm your wife as much by your economy as by extravagance." rejoined Garland, pointedly.

These words only nourished Malcolm's conviction that his father was hopelessly addled. Garland had, Malcolm felt, made an ass of himself by falling in love with yet another woman who was as vain as a peacock.

Still, the girl charmed Malcolm, despite his intention to remain immune. From her first evening with them, she had seemed to play up to him, flirting, including him in every conversation, under the guise of friendliness, while not once trying to engage Olivia. He didn't entirely believe that Alicia was the innocent everyone took her for, for he remembered too well the type of woman Garland had associated with, in the past. He'd observed these playthings firsthand, when the death of Garland's parents made it possible for Garland to discard all convention, and host what seemed a permanent house party in Foxworth Hall. Houseguests, many of them female, had been frequent malingerers in the mansion. That chaotic state of affairs went on for two or three years, following Corinne's defection.

When this new Foxworth child was born, Malcolm had no doubt it would receive as little attention from Garland as he himself had attracted, as a boy. He looked forward, in an offhand way, to watching events unfold, wondering how the man would behave, given this second chance. Malcolm acknowledged that Garland was much better in the role of grandfather than he had been as father.

The men entered the library, and reaching for a crystal decanter, Garland poured a sherry, anticipating Alicia's appearance.

"They'll be along in a while," Garland said. "Alicia's helping Olivia bathe the boys."

"Bath time. Feeding time. It never ends." came Malcolm's surly complaint. "This place isn't anything but a nursery. I'll be glad when they grow up."

"Feeling a bit the second fiddle, eh, son?"

Casting his son a sympathetic look, and then, presently, thinking he understood another possible source of friction between the pair, Garland offered his brand of advice.

"Call her every day to say you're on your way home. It will give her the impression that she knows where you are, every minute."

"What makes you think that I have need of such a ploy?"

"You're young, and haven't learned to be grateful." Then, with a wink, Garland added, "If you can't be good, be careful."

"You know nothing, Father." scowled Malcolm.

"Not much." Garland affably agreed. When he reached for his glass of brandy and the project portfolio he'd brought from the office to review, Malcolm turned their talk to matters less personal.

"I can't get away next week, Father, and as you know, it is crucial that one of us represent our interests at that damned unionization meeting. You must go."

"Weren't you in that vicinity, just a few weeks ago?"

"Olivia and the boys were with me. It was more of a holiday than a business trip."

"I wasn't aware that you have such pressing previous engagements." said Garland, brow furrowed in concern.

"You've seen the calendar."

"Alicia won't be happy," Garland worried. "and with the baby coming any day-"

"Be practical, Father. You'd be in Georgia for no more than three days."

Garland was not a man to settle willingly into domesticity. Fireside and children and long home evenings were not what he most enjoyed. Malcolm, voicing this observation to pursue his argument, was neatly dismissed by Garland.

"But you enjoy seeing the world. Travel is what you live for, new locales, new experiences and people. Why, even my mother wasn't important enough to keep you at home. If she wouldn't travel with you, you went alone."

"Corinne was hardly a suitable companion."

"Are you going to allow this woman to dictate your movements?"

"She agreeably goes along with whatever I suggest." he said, unruffled by Malcolm's escalating temper. "You have a point, son, but everything is different, now. Alicia wanted a baby." Garland sighed darkly. "They all want babies, eventually." He lifted his glass, relishing the smoothe brandy. "Perhaps it's time I gave it up. Everyone ages. Even you, Malcolm, will slow down, one of these years. You'll lose your zest for such relentless work. Your heart will give you trouble."

"You are not the village oracle, I think, Father."

"It happened to your grandfather, and his father before."

No matter what the older man said, Malcolm believed that Garland's contentment and tenancy at Foxworth Hall would be brief. Alicia, high-spirited and gay, would soon grow bored with the slower pace of life in a small village, in a narrow, prescribed society. She would want to leave Foxworth Hall, surely, and would pressure Garland to do so.

"Ah, the daisy and the morning glory." Garland vociferously announced, rising when Alicia appeared, followed by Olivia, both dressed for dinner. "Yellow and blue."

Alicia smiled, yawned, and nestled into a corner of the leather sofa next to her husband, who put a protective arm about her shoulders.

"A long day, my love?" he softly inquired.

"Nothing that an early night won't cure. You all may have to excuse me from dinner, tonight. I'm feeling very well," she hastened to add for Garland's benefit. "you need not worry. Dr. Braxten will drop in, tomorrow."

"Dinner will be quiet, then." Malcolm commented, garnering a sidelong glance from Olivia, who imagined she detected disappointment in his tone.

"Father, about that meeting in Georgia-"

"I'll go," Garland compromised. "but will only stay for a day, and be gone one night. Anything that can't be accomplished in that time will have to be seen to, by you."

"Very well, if that is your final word."

Garland nodded, his decision firm.

"You missed a meeting today, but we've received the quote, so everything's in place to get rolling on the Sparry mill project."

"My son is at at his happiest when sealing lucrative business deals, whether legitimate, or ever so slightly crooked." Garland joked to Alicia.

"I've had a telegram from one of the consortium from Bromley's , confirming the meeting with the architect, this Thursday. Is it too early for a glass of wine?"

"Perhaps we should save it for Thursday." Olivia suggested with a quick smile.

"You're right, I'll have coffee instead." he agreed, and as she poured him a cup, he turned again to Garland. "They'll all be there, and it would be wise for you to put in an appearance."

"What time is the meeting?"

"Ten, and Matthew reckons it will take all day."

"All day? asked Alicia, troubled, her own plans for the day going awry.

"It's our opportunity for nailing down plans, to find out what kind of ground we need to cover, and precisely what will need to be done to the place, before the auction. And more importantly, how much the conversion's likely to cost, give or take a king's ransom."

"It's exciting. I'm sure it will go well. And you must tell us more." Alicia insisted. Malcolm doubted that she had any true interest in the subject-or indeed that Olivia much wanted to hear about it either, but he was in good spirits, and encouraged, continued.

"It's crucial, in this early stage, making sure our bid is feasible and profitable, and I don't only mean the bricks and mortar, establishing the hierarchy."

"You'll be in your element, trampling Sparry underfoot." Olivia affirmed, with an amused, light sarcasm.

"In these matters, it pays to be assertive."

"I'm sure you'll do a fantastic job, on Thursday." she said, and opening its gold cover, glanced at her watch pendant. "Shall we go in to dinner?"  
* * *

To be continued...


End file.
